


Skirts and Sofas

by lixabiz



Series: Clothing Optional [3]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, NSFW, Red Skirt, Tentoo Getting Lucky, sofa sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 19:14:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3145502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lixabiz/pseuds/lixabiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor has always had his eye on this particular floaty red number, and Rose isn’t clueless about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skirts and Sofas

The zip up the back of her skirt was on it’s last legs, and Rose did her best to carefully do it up without causing further damage. It wouldn’t last much longer - not the way she lived and by extension the way her clothes lived - and so she felt it deserved to go out with a bang. Especially since she knew there was a certain someone who had been eyeing (not very subtly) this particular floaty number for weeks now as it hung unworn in the middle of a wintry season in the wardrobe.  
  
Padding downstairs barefoot, Rose quietly opened the door to the living room, where she found the Doctor.  
  
He was sprawled out on the sofa, his jacket thrown across the coffee table, top buttons undone and collar open. His eyes were closed, tired smudges darkening beneath them, and light stubble covered his jawline. Something warm and wanting twisted low in Rose’s stomach, and for a moment she held herself still - old habit, reining herself in, forcing herself to _not touch_ him the way she wanted to.  
  
And then he opened his eyes to look at her and she remembered she could do whatever she wanted now. They’d had a talk, several talks, and certain words had been said and exchanged and while it would take some getting used to, it was real. They were together. He belonged to her, and she belonged to him. She was allowed to look and touch as much as she wanted, whenever she wanted.  
  
Right now his lap looked inviting, so she slid herself onto it, knees spread on either side to frame his skinny hips. The red skirt flared and settled over them. He locked her into place with both hands, thumbs brushing at the waistband.  
  
"Hello," he said, eyes bright, his weariness suddenly gone. A surge of warmth bubbled up inside her, fuelled by the sheer gladness in his voice, the happiness that always lit up his face whenever she walked into a room.    
  
Her lips curved up. “Hello. Did I wake you?”  
  
"Wasn’t sleeping. Just resting for a bit."  
  
She touched the side of his beloved face with her hand, tracing the stubble along his cheek. “Hungry?” she asked.  
  
"Nope," he said, leaning into her touch. "How about you?"  
  
"No," she replied, stroking his ear. He shivered a bit, which made her smile and want to hug him. So she did, wrapping both arms around his neck, squeezing affectionately. He hugged her back and buried his face into her shoulder.  
  
The warmth of his breath on her nape felt good, but it felt even better when he pressed his lips to her neck. Rose sighed and tilted her head slightly, allowing him to kiss along the column of her throat - hot, sweet little kisses, accompanied by the ocassional friction of his stubble rubbing against her skin.  
  
"You know," he said, pausing to lick a particularly sensitive spot on her neck before going on, "I distinctly remember you left the house wearing jeans this morning." He bunched his clever hands into the red fabric pooling around his hips, one eyebrow eloquently raised. "Not that I’m complaining, mind you. I quite like this skirt of yours."  
  
She knew that very well, of course, even without his offhand compliments each time she wore it. Sometimes she’d catch him staring at her legs when he thought she wasn’t looking, his gaze contemplative, almost dreamy.    
  
He went on tracing hieroglyphs in several different alien languages into the skin above her breasts with his tongue, pausing now and then to grasp at her hips, adjusting his grip. She wore nothing but a pair of cotton pants under the skirt and it was thin enough to allow her to feel every inch of him beneath her. Every growing inch, in fact, evidenced by the way he kept shifting, trying to find the perfect position to put pressure on the bulge in his trousers. She rolled her hips, catching him off-guard, making his eyes darken in her most favourite way - pupils blown wide until all that was left was a ring of brown around the edges.   
  
"Rose," he murmured, biting the collar of her jacket. "This is in the way."  
  
She yanked on the tab of the zipper that ran down the front of the garment and unzipped it, discarding it onto the floor. She was left in a little white vest top and cotton bra. The Doctor’s eyes were glued to the skin above the neckline of the vest. Without hesitation, Rose grabbed the hem of her vest and pulled it up and over her head. That joined her jacket on the floor too. Just a bra now.  
  
"Better?"  
  
"Infinitely," he said, one hand lifting to cup her right breast, his thumb brushing over the pebbled nipple and making Rose infinitely glad the bra was unpadded. She didn’t need a lot of support anyway. As a teenager she had sometimes bemoaned that fact, when inevitably some boy’s eyes strayed to a more generously endowed chest, but these days she appreciated what she had. It helped that the Doctor seemed to find them absolutely enchanting despite their relative smallness. His enthusiasm was definitely ego-boosting.   
  
He lowered his head to her chest and licked at her right nipple before taking it entirely into his warm mouth. Rose gasped and her eyes fluttered shut. He licked and sucked and gently nipped at the taut bud with his teeth, focusing on the task with an intensity of concentration she found incredibly arousing.   
  
"Gorgeous," he said, switching to the other breast, teasing that nipple into pointed glory as well before treating the valley between with the same hospitable consideration. He was thorough, absolutely, it was one of his best traits, and- _oh, god_. Her brain suddenly lost all train of thought as he plunged his hand under the skirt and traced a firm line down the center of her knickers.   
  
"This is in the way, too," he said, lips coming to rest just under her ear. His hot breath on her sensitive lobe made her shiver and she shifted restlessly, wetness gathering where he toyed with her pants. A finger slipped under the elastic and delved between her folds, making her buck and arch away.   
  
He caught her around the waist and said, smugly, “Rule number one, don’t wander off.”  
  
She made a face because it was cheesy, and giggled, also because it was cheesy. He lifted his head, clearly put out by the laughter, and she knew she was in trouble from the way his brows furrowed.   
  
"Up," he said, lifting her from his lap.  
  
She sobered instantly, but before she could protest he had slid out from beneath her, twisting her around until she was the one who was under with her back pressed to his chest. He seized her hands and placed them on the back of the sofa, then placed a commanding palm to her back, pressing her until she was bent forward, knees digging into the cushions. _Oh_ , she thought, a thrill coursing through her, and any grievances she had instantly melted away.   
  
"That’s better," the Doctor said, smug once more. "Perfect, as a matter of fact."  
  
She arched and pushed back, grinding into his erection. That elicited a very satisfactory grunt from him. He retaliated by flipping her skirt up over her bum, cool air hitting the back of her thighs and making her feel even hotter on the inside. Without a word, he hooked his thumbs into the elastic of her knickers and dragged them down, nudging a knee until she took the hint and lifted it so he could pull the cotton scrap off one leg, leaving it to dangle from the other.   
  
"Sorry, I spoke too soon. Now we’re perfect. Weeeeell, I say we, I mean you. You’re perfect. Absolutely bloody perfect."   
  
She felt him kneel, slightly, legs spread to either side of hers, and heard the rasp of his zipper and the sound of fabric rustling as he shoved his trousers down. He sprang free, the sensitive head brushing wetly against the inside of her thigh, bringing her excitement to peak levels.   
  
The angle put her at the optimum height, her slick opening exactly level with his cock. He ran a hand along the curve of her bottom, admiring the shapely swell of soft, supple flesh. He traced his thumb along her slit, dipping two fingers into the wet heat. Her knees wobbled, slightly, and she arched into his touch.  
  
"I can’t wait to be inside you," he said into her ear, his voice like gravel and liquid heat. "You’re ready, aren’t you? You’re incredibly wet."  
  
He slid into her, one hand pressed to the small of her back, and groaned. He’d once told her, after they’d spent several amazing hours christening their new bed, that she felt like velvet heat, snug and slick around him. He’d also wrenchingly confessed that the first stroke always undid him - short-circuited all his neurons until he was nothing but blood and desire and need. She had jumped him shortly after.   
  
"My Rose. Always ready and willing. Just waiting for me, aren’t you?" The Doctor fisted her skirt in one hand, his other one sneaking in front between her belly and the sofa to find the little bundle of nerves that soon had her trembling all over. He withdrew and thrust slowly, thoroughly. Thoughts scattered in her brain, leaving her senseless, the world shrinking to just the feeling of the Doctor moving inside her, filling her, chanting her name, mumbling words and pleas and desperate, lusty groans that echoed the boiling throb of her blood.   
  
He reached up with one hand to pinch her nipple, the pressure setting off sparks behind her eyelids. The sparks pinwheeled into fireworks as his hand worked faster between her legs, his hips moving faster and harder, jerking her body with every thrust. Throaty moans came from her, drowning out the sound of their bodies meeting, the slap of skin on skin. All she could focus on was the utter decadence of him gliding slickly in and out of her, faster and faster, until he could bear it no longer and grasped her hips with both hands to haul her bum higher into the air. The new position forced her legs closer together and made her tighter, changing the angle and allowing him to hit the perfect spot inside Rose.   
  
She whimpered and heard him utter a low curse, unintelligible, followed by a string of feverish nonsense. He thrust into her hard, and came, cock pulsing as he spent himself inside her, making her gasp with appreciation. The few times he did come before her - rare, as his sense of pride usually insisted on making her orgasm first, sometimes several times - she still felt a sort of completion when he finished. Her own pleasure was so tied up in his, and nothing made her feel sexier than to hear, feel and taste him falling over the edge.   
  
She let go of the sofa to circle two fingers around her clit and quickly followed him into orgasm, his laboured breathing hitching as he felt her clench around him. They lay there in a sweaty heap, dizzy with satiation, heartbeats in no hurry to go back to normal.   
  
That had been phenomenal. She’d seen stars. They’d fucked on the sofa, him taking her from behind no less, something they rarely did. Rose made up her mind then and there to do it more often. Oh god, definitely more often, though perhaps not right away. Maybe, once he recovered, she’d flip her skirt back down and ride him, the way she’d intended to when she’d first plopped herself into his lap earlier, until he lost control again and fucked her until she screamed.   
  
"Sorry," he said, interrupting her blissful plotting with a heavy sigh.   
  
"What on earth for?" she managed to say, opening one eye to peer at him, a bit miffed that he was apologizing for what she had deemed to be some of the hottest sex they’d had so far.   
  
He pulled away, taking his weight off her, both a relief and a deprivation. He lifted his arm half-heartedly, all his energy expended, and grimaced. “It’s quarter-past ten, isn’t it? I forgot. We didn’t get to go out.”  
  
"S’alright," said Rose, rolling over to face him. She kissed his chin, extremely pleased with how the night had gone. "Happy anniversary, Doctor."  
  
There might be several more gos for the skirt, after all, she thought happily, as he gratefully captured her lips with his own and ran his hand suggestively up her thigh. Maybe it would even outlive the night.


End file.
